Editor's Corner

Editor's Corner
histories are built from many elements. The wide variety of
sources is evident in the three articles in the present is­sue.
Family scrapbooks, newspapers, congregation histo­ries,
photographs, memoirs, speeches, books, and articles are just a
few of the resources our authors used to prepare their contributions.
Often we see sources as limited to written records—materials by and
about individuals and groups—with a few photographs tossed in for
good measure. However, physical evidence, including houses, churches,
schools, furniture, housewares, tools, clothing, nicknacks, and ma­chines,
is also important for understanding the past.
In recent months my involvement in an effort to ensure the sur­vival
of a group of nineteenth-century stone buildings in Ottawa,
Minnesota, the completion of the restoration of Gustavus Adolphus
College and especially the Borgeson cabin on the campus following
the March 1998 tornado, and the fates of two Minnesota buildings
important in Scandinavian-American history have reminded me of
the significance of this body of historical sources. It is these last two
buildings that I wish to emphasize here.
Dania Hall was, for over a hundred years, an important building
in the history of Danish Americans, Scandinavian Americans, Min­neapolis,
the most Scandinavian neighborhood in that city for sev­eral
decades around the turn of the last century, and a sequence of
other immigrant groups, most recently Somalis, Vietnamese, and
Russians. The building stood at the south end of the 400's block on
Cedar Avenue, in the heart of the Cedar-Riverside/"Snus Boulevard"
neighborhood. This architecturally eclectic brick structure was built
Dania Hall
427 Cedar Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota
1886-2000
by the Dania Hall Building As­sociation,
an off-shoot of the
Dania Society, as a retail loca­tion,
meeting place, and enter­tainment
center for its members
and for the thousands of Scandi­navian
Americans in the area and
the city. The original cost was
$35,000, including the lot. Ap­propriately,
the cornerstone was
laid on 5 June 1886 (Denmark's
Constitution Day), and Dania
Hall opened that November.
For many, the real jewel in
the building was the auditorium
with its proscenium stage and
horseshoe balcony, which filled
the third and fourth floors. This
was the site of Ibsen and
Strindberg drama productions, concerts by the likes of Ole Bull,
lectures by Scandinavians including Knut Hamsun, the immigrant
vaudeville shows of entertainers such as Olle i Skratthult, and senti­mental
evenings of song and dance. Over the years it served as a
gathering place for the sequence of immigrants who called the Cedar
Riverside area home—Danes and Norwegians and Swedes, Czechs,
African Americans, Native Americans, students at the University of
Minnesota, and, most recently, Somalis and Vietnamese and Rus­sians.
Time, of course, took its toll on the building and its neighbor­hood.
Over the last twenty years or so, friends of the hall had sought
to bring it back to life. But the fates seemed stacked against it, and
the best of plans always seemed to run into obstacles. In 1991 Dania
Hall was nearly destroyed by fire. Recently, however, things had
turned. A $2.7 million renovation project was well underway, in­cluding
restaurants, stores, and a rejuvenated auditorium, when fire
struck again in February this year. The building was totally destroyed.
This proud landmark, filled with over a century of the echoes of
178
immigrants' voices, laughter, music, and dancing, lay in ruins.
St. Ansgar's Hall
East Union, Minnesota
1856-2000?
Another building important in Swedish-American history is St.
Ansgar's Hall, located in East Union, Minnesota, about forty miles
southwest of Minneapolis. This building began its life as the church
of the Union congregation in 1855. It was originally a log structure
about 30 by 36 feet. In 1863 it became the site for Eric Norelius's
school when it was moved from Red Wing and was variously called
"the school at Carver," "the Jackson School," and, from 1865 to
1875, St. Ansgar's Academy. In 1866 the East Union congregation
built a new church, and the school building was partially dismantled,
moved, reassembled, and enlarged to include an abbreviated second
story. Three years later, more thorough modifications raised the sec­ond
floor walls and added a 14-foot extension. At the same time the
exterior was sided and the interior plastered. In 1876 the school
moved to St. Peter to become Gustavus Adolphus College, and the
building returned to the church. It became St. Ansgar's Hall and
served a number of purposes for the congregation. (See Emeroy
Johnson's A Church Is Planted, Minneapolis, 1948.)
For the last several
years the fate of this struc­ture
has been in question.
The East Union congrega­tion
built a new complex
for offices and activities,
and the land (with the
building) was sold. When
I drove up to East Union
in early June, I fully ex­pected
to find "probably the only pioneer building in the [Minnesota]
Conference dating back to pre-Civil War times" (Johnson, 96) gone
179
or a pile of rubble. But it was still there, clearly unused and un­wanted.
Sparrows had nested under the entrance roof. Painted peeled
from the siding. The half-moon window in the top story was missing
a pane. The blue and white sign over the door was faded and almost
unreadable. What is the future for this piece of Swedish-American
history? It is owned by a developer and stands in the way of a project.
He doesn't return my phone calls. It may seem most logical for
Gustavus Adolphus College to acquire it; but moving it to the
campus, siting it, and restoring it would cost several hundred thou­sand
dollars—and then to what use would it be put?
Every historical source is fragile. Nothing appears to be perma­nent
or safe. Every day, valuable collections are lost, destroyed, or
casually discarded. Preserving at least a sampling of the materials of
the written record may be relatively uncomplicated—although al­ways
skewed by chance or politics or social status or gender or . . .
Libraries and archives have been doing so for centuries. Preserving
the smaller elements of material culture also seems manageable and
the task of museums. Buildings are another matter, and these days
180
more and more appear to be falling victim to more than the ravages
of time or accident. Changes in urban and rural America threaten
the survival of many. One can, as in the case of Dania Hall, try to
preserve the historical integrity of a structure while adapting it to
contemporary uses; or one can collect important structures in out­door
museums, in Skansens. Both options are expensive. However,
the preservation of historical structures is as important as saving the
written records. Words are only one aspect of history. The places in
which they were spoken or written are just as vital to our understand­ing
of the past.
181

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Editor's Corner
histories are built from many elements. The wide variety of
sources is evident in the three articles in the present is­sue.
Family scrapbooks, newspapers, congregation histo­ries,
photographs, memoirs, speeches, books, and articles are just a
few of the resources our authors used to prepare their contributions.
Often we see sources as limited to written records—materials by and
about individuals and groups—with a few photographs tossed in for
good measure. However, physical evidence, including houses, churches,
schools, furniture, housewares, tools, clothing, nicknacks, and ma­chines,
is also important for understanding the past.
In recent months my involvement in an effort to ensure the sur­vival
of a group of nineteenth-century stone buildings in Ottawa,
Minnesota, the completion of the restoration of Gustavus Adolphus
College and especially the Borgeson cabin on the campus following
the March 1998 tornado, and the fates of two Minnesota buildings
important in Scandinavian-American history have reminded me of
the significance of this body of historical sources. It is these last two
buildings that I wish to emphasize here.
Dania Hall was, for over a hundred years, an important building
in the history of Danish Americans, Scandinavian Americans, Min­neapolis,
the most Scandinavian neighborhood in that city for sev­eral
decades around the turn of the last century, and a sequence of
other immigrant groups, most recently Somalis, Vietnamese, and
Russians. The building stood at the south end of the 400's block on
Cedar Avenue, in the heart of the Cedar-Riverside/"Snus Boulevard"
neighborhood. This architecturally eclectic brick structure was built
Dania Hall
427 Cedar Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota
1886-2000
by the Dania Hall Building As­sociation,
an off-shoot of the
Dania Society, as a retail loca­tion,
meeting place, and enter­tainment
center for its members
and for the thousands of Scandi­navian
Americans in the area and
the city. The original cost was
$35,000, including the lot. Ap­propriately,
the cornerstone was
laid on 5 June 1886 (Denmark's
Constitution Day), and Dania
Hall opened that November.
For many, the real jewel in
the building was the auditorium
with its proscenium stage and
horseshoe balcony, which filled
the third and fourth floors. This
was the site of Ibsen and
Strindberg drama productions, concerts by the likes of Ole Bull,
lectures by Scandinavians including Knut Hamsun, the immigrant
vaudeville shows of entertainers such as Olle i Skratthult, and senti­mental
evenings of song and dance. Over the years it served as a
gathering place for the sequence of immigrants who called the Cedar
Riverside area home—Danes and Norwegians and Swedes, Czechs,
African Americans, Native Americans, students at the University of
Minnesota, and, most recently, Somalis and Vietnamese and Rus­sians.
Time, of course, took its toll on the building and its neighbor­hood.
Over the last twenty years or so, friends of the hall had sought
to bring it back to life. But the fates seemed stacked against it, and
the best of plans always seemed to run into obstacles. In 1991 Dania
Hall was nearly destroyed by fire. Recently, however, things had
turned. A $2.7 million renovation project was well underway, in­cluding
restaurants, stores, and a rejuvenated auditorium, when fire
struck again in February this year. The building was totally destroyed.
This proud landmark, filled with over a century of the echoes of
178
immigrants' voices, laughter, music, and dancing, lay in ruins.
St. Ansgar's Hall
East Union, Minnesota
1856-2000?
Another building important in Swedish-American history is St.
Ansgar's Hall, located in East Union, Minnesota, about forty miles
southwest of Minneapolis. This building began its life as the church
of the Union congregation in 1855. It was originally a log structure
about 30 by 36 feet. In 1863 it became the site for Eric Norelius's
school when it was moved from Red Wing and was variously called
"the school at Carver," "the Jackson School," and, from 1865 to
1875, St. Ansgar's Academy. In 1866 the East Union congregation
built a new church, and the school building was partially dismantled,
moved, reassembled, and enlarged to include an abbreviated second
story. Three years later, more thorough modifications raised the sec­ond
floor walls and added a 14-foot extension. At the same time the
exterior was sided and the interior plastered. In 1876 the school
moved to St. Peter to become Gustavus Adolphus College, and the
building returned to the church. It became St. Ansgar's Hall and
served a number of purposes for the congregation. (See Emeroy
Johnson's A Church Is Planted, Minneapolis, 1948.)
For the last several
years the fate of this struc­ture
has been in question.
The East Union congrega­tion
built a new complex
for offices and activities,
and the land (with the
building) was sold. When
I drove up to East Union
in early June, I fully ex­pected
to find "probably the only pioneer building in the [Minnesota]
Conference dating back to pre-Civil War times" (Johnson, 96) gone
179
or a pile of rubble. But it was still there, clearly unused and un­wanted.
Sparrows had nested under the entrance roof. Painted peeled
from the siding. The half-moon window in the top story was missing
a pane. The blue and white sign over the door was faded and almost
unreadable. What is the future for this piece of Swedish-American
history? It is owned by a developer and stands in the way of a project.
He doesn't return my phone calls. It may seem most logical for
Gustavus Adolphus College to acquire it; but moving it to the
campus, siting it, and restoring it would cost several hundred thou­sand
dollars—and then to what use would it be put?
Every historical source is fragile. Nothing appears to be perma­nent
or safe. Every day, valuable collections are lost, destroyed, or
casually discarded. Preserving at least a sampling of the materials of
the written record may be relatively uncomplicated—although al­ways
skewed by chance or politics or social status or gender or . . .
Libraries and archives have been doing so for centuries. Preserving
the smaller elements of material culture also seems manageable and
the task of museums. Buildings are another matter, and these days
180
more and more appear to be falling victim to more than the ravages
of time or accident. Changes in urban and rural America threaten
the survival of many. One can, as in the case of Dania Hall, try to
preserve the historical integrity of a structure while adapting it to
contemporary uses; or one can collect important structures in out­door
museums, in Skansens. Both options are expensive. However,
the preservation of historical structures is as important as saving the
written records. Words are only one aspect of history. The places in
which they were spoken or written are just as vital to our understand­ing
of the past.
181